


A Little More Than a Little Thoughtless

by Badwxlf



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Apodyopsis, Bad table manners, Canon-Typical Violence, D-Dadspy...? Is that you?, First Kisses, Fluff, M/M, Medic’s HOT shower scene ft. Scoutvision, Pining, Semi-inadvertently Drugged Birds, That was the prompt I started this fic with haha, The Great Pigeon Attack of 19something, Wherein I exercise my smooch writing capabilities, and also channel the disgruntled inner voice of the human embodiment of a Bostonian train wreck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2020-10-13 07:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20578814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Badwxlf/pseuds/Badwxlf
Summary: Every little thing, every little touch he’d manage to sneak made Scout’s heart beat just the slightest bit faster, shot a little something giddy through his gut and up his chest. Thrills aside, sometimes just being next to the doctor lifted his mood enough to wanna mess around.Scout couldn’t help but chase the feeling.—Or: Scout’s got it bad.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks for checking this fic out!! I hope you have fun!
> 
> Also, disclaimer, but the most experience I’ve got with German is like half a year back in high school sooooo... Have mercy haha
> 
> Danke schön ♡

Scout caught sight of Medic in the showers once. Usually, that wouldn’t be a big deal and who even cares, right, because almost the entire team uses the showers so Scout’s basically seen every traumatizing sight you could probably imagine, but… Medic never does. 

Thing is, Medic’s got his own little room for himself tucked away separate from the other guys. It was by the infirmary so he’d be real close in case of emergencies. He must’ve had a private bathroom or something, too, which would explain why he hardly joined the rest of them. If he had a cool little place for himself to freshen up without any of his crazy teammates running around with their junk swinging in the air, why would he bother coming down to that dingy old shower room? It just made sense. It’s not like the guy stunk, so he definitely had to be washing up _ somewhere _.

Therefore, Scout, who usually tried his absolute hardest to avoid looking at anyone, noticed right away when Medic walked in. He didn’t stare outright because that’d be pretty messed up of him to do, but he couldn’t help sneaking glances, and that’s what did him in.

He couldn’t get him out of his head. Scout had never seen Medic outside of his work clothes before. That signature coat of his and those long boots… 

Okay, sure, maybe Medic would shrug the coat off sometimes during down time, but his vest and crisp buttoned up shirt-and-tie combo still looked pretty “work ready” to Scout. Hell, even the gloves were iconic—a signature Medic look. Scout only saw them come off for operations, and even then his hands would still be covered in red, painted in his teammates’ blood. 

(Weird how he did that, by the way. You’d think he’d keep the gloves on for operations especially, but hey, whatever floats his boat.)

Before Medic entered the showers, most of the team was already gone, save for Scout, Engie and Demo, the latter of which because he’d passed out under the shower head. It must’ve been a combination of sheer exhaustion and loads of alcohol, but the guy seemed fine. It wasn’t like he’d drown, so Scout just let him be. 

As for why Scout was still there, he’d gotten jarate’d at least ten times that day by both snipers on either team. The last jar might’ve saved him from some nasty burns, keeping him from respawn, but it lingered after the end of the battle and Scout refused to leave until he could get the cloying scent of ammonia off his skin. Having piss slowly seep into your open wounds had to be one of the most painful and disgusting things in the history of anything _ ever _. In fact, Scout was still sniffing his arm when he caught Medic strolling in.

Medic wore nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. It came off before he stepped under the water.

Scout wasn’t gonna mince words. Like, in the least-gay and manliest way possible, he could admit that Medic was fine as hell. That crazy doctor was actually pretty fit… Sure, Scout should’ve known that in hindsight, given that Medic spends the entire day running around and saving people’s lives with that hefty medigun strapped to his back, but it never actually _ hit _ Scout as well as it did just then. The guy had muscle. He was tall. His chest had hair on it too, all burly and strong and stuff, like, Jesus freakin’ _ Christ;_ what was up with that old nerd, looking like that?

When Medic reached up to lather some shampoo into his hair, the muscles in his arms seemed to shift in _ just the right way _, accentuated by the water cascading over his form and the fluorescent ceiling lights making his wet skin glisten. The suds from the soap he used dripped down his body, sneaking over the swell of his ass and down his thighs, and the sight of it made Scout adjust his shower so it was just… a little… cooler. 

At that point, he’d been scrubbing the same spot on his arm for an unnatural length of time. He chanced a glance at the others to see if anyone saw him acting _ totally not-gay _and thankfully found Engie worriedly prodding the unconscious demoman with a loofa, occupied in his own right.

Medic wasn’t even wearing his glasses. How well could Medic see without his glasses? Could he tell Scout was sneaking looks, or could Scout get away with it, being nothing but a blur in the older man’s periphery? It was curiosity Scout was acting upon, nothing more, but he still felt oddly salacious. He didn’t like the way the heat seemed to build up restlessly under his skin even with the reduced temperature of the water, and the way his eyes seemed to drift back to the doctor, lingering on the exposed expanse of his back, the movement of the muscles in his legs when he shifted in stance… 

So, in typical Scout fashion, he dealt with it by finishing everything else he had to do in record time and zipping the hell outta there. He ran to his room still dripping water on the floor, face burning and fingers aching to touch something that wasn’t there.

—

Scout would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. He would be lying through his teeth. But that’s a natural thing, isn’t it? To wonder about the unseen, the mysterious? Hell, the team used to wonder what was under _ Pyro’s _ suit all the time before they got used to ‘em! It wasn’t Scout’s fault if God gifted him with a genius, inquisitive mind and that Medic just so happened to be on the receiving end of it.

He’d watch Medic pull at his gloves, say something about doctor assisted homicide, and wonder what his hands felt like underneath all that rubber. He’d see Medic adjust his tie and Scout would wonder how he’d look with that pristine thing all skewed, loose around his neck, his shirt unbuttoned and his collarbone peeking through. He’d witness Medic’s glasses reflect the harsh light of the sun as he thrust his ubersaw into an enemy and Scout would wonder what Medic was like when he slipped them off and relaxed, calm, away from the chaos. He’d notice how Medic’s hair would always stay perfectly combed death after death and he’d wonder what Medic would look like if it was just a bit wilder, tousled, _ touched… _

Scout couldn’t help himself.

And it was driving him insane.

—

After having virtually all his questions (except for one, because Scout really couldn’t bring himself to stare at another guy’s dick and claim it _ wasn’t _ gay, holy _ crap_) answered after the shower incident, Scout couldn’t see Medic the same way anymore.

If anything, things got worse… Because the things he’d wonder before became easier to imagine answers for. 

God, this wouldn’t be an issue if only Scout wasn’t so freakin’ awesome at thinking. His mind was on a whole ‘nother level, one he didn’t even want it to reach because his imagination was just so immensely powerful. He knew what Medic looked like and he could picture it clear as day. So his thoughts naturally drifted to other things.

Did Medic’s hands have calluses, like Scout’s, or were they a bit softer, protected by those gloves all day? If Scout ran his fingers through Medic’s hair, how would that feel? The Doc might always be clean-shaven, but if Scout got close enough would the stubble be a little rough? Medic’s got a funny voice, what with that thick German accent and all, but how would it feel—how _ different _ would it sound—if he was breathing low, coarse whispers into the runner’s ears? Could Scout press his hand against Medic’s chest and prove that the Doc wasn’t so heartless after all? 

Despite Scout’s best efforts to resist temptation, he’d slowly been inching nearer to Medic day by day. Like a quick little scavenger, he stole opportunities whenever they came.

A few nudges here and there, patting him on the back or draping an arm over his shoulder in thanks, bumping into him a few times just to feel his arms around him when they’d fall over… 

Stealing Medic’s glasses so he’d chase him for them, letting Medic catch him, brushing the tips of his fingers against Medic’s temple when he’d cheekily return them where they belong… 

Peering over his shoulder when he’s playing chess with Heavy, stealing bites of his lunch when it’s still in his hand, rubbing shoulders during dinner, getting a cut on his finger too small to whip out the medigun for and insisting Medic personally put a bandage on it because _ it freakin’ hurts, Doc, I swear, can’t feel my hand or nothin’— _

Every little thing, every little touch he’d manage to sneak made Scout’s heart beat just the slightest bit faster, shot a little something giddy through his gut and up his chest. Thrills aside, sometimes just being next to the doctor lifted his mood enough to wanna mess around.

Scout couldn’t help but chase the feeling.

—

It was hard to breathe. Scout flanked the enemy team and managed to get the drop on their medic, heavy, and soldier, thus withholding their incoming push, but not without a price. Their demoman landed a direct shot on the runner’s torso as he was making his getaway, hitting a pipe harsh enough to have Scout drop dead that instant if he had been any less resilient. And just seconds before that, their sniper arrowed him straight through his shoulder. 

Scout yanked the arrow out thinking the motion would look badass, but it honestly just really hurt and now he had blood gushing out of his shoulder like Niagra Falls.

He was able to round the corner just in time to get away, bleeding profusely and limbs barely attached, but the detonated flesh aching over his rib cage demanded immediate attention. As soon as he saw his teammates in front of him, he didn’t even _ think. _Dispensers? Medkits? Fuck that.

Scout dropped in front of Medic as the latter was flashing an overheal on Spy. 

“Medic!” he shouted. “Doc! C’mon, man!”

“Scout? What in the world happened to you?” Medic asked. His eyebrows were raised in surprise, but he didn’t hesitate to switch the beam over as he spoke.

“I won us the fight, that’s what,” Scout said.

Spy took one glance at the runner’s injured state and shot him a look that screamed _ ‘yeah, right’ _ and _ ‘je suis unimpressed’._ Scout would’ve told him to square up, tough guy, if he wasn’t so busy getting those sweet, sweet heals, because as soon as the medibeam hit, he immediately began to feel its effects. His skin was un-crisping itself and stitching back together almost magically, the gaping arrow hole in his shoulder disappearing in seconds.

No longer lightheaded, Scout felt ecstatic. Medic saving him from the brink of death still felt like new every time, and it always made him feel invincible. 

He was reaching max health just as Heavy and Soldier came barreling their way to them from over by the choke, crying,_ “Medic!” _ like Scout had moments prior. They weren’t that badly injured, so Scout barely spared them a glance. Medic turned his head, though, and answered their calls with a _ “Ja!” _and a nod of acknowledgement. 

Overcome with gratitude and hopped up on the overheal high, Scout still wasn’t really thinking. Or, at least, he wasn’t thinking the right things. 

Scout’s body was always faster than his head seemed to be, acting upon instincts and impulses even before he himself could register them. So while Scout’s brain was going on about how grateful he was and how Medic’s profile looks really majestic all lit by the sun and stuff and how, damn, the Doc’s lips actually looked pretty freakin’ soft, Scout’s legs were already moving.

He leapt up and took the opportunity Medic’s fleeting distraction gave him, taking Medic’s face in hand as soon as he looked away and pressing a big, fat kiss on the older man’s cheek.

“Thanks, Doc! I feel great!” Scout beamed. 

Medic looked stunned for a moment. Heavy and Soldier stopped running from where they were, and Spy actually did a double-take, fingers briefly stuttering from their place on his disguise kit. In the distance, Engineer whistled.

Scout didn’t notice. 

“You’re welcome, _ Junge,” _Medic managed to say.

Still grinning, Scout affectionately pat Medic lightly on his unkissed cheek and scampered away. 

“I’m gonna make ya proud, Doc. Just watch!” he shouted, laughing, before disappearing down the flank.

The blood in his veins was pumping and the pleasing feeling of Medic’s skin beneath his lips replayed in the back of his mind as he ran. He already had another plan in motion: this time, he was gonna get revenge on that dumbass sniper and demo that got him all wrecked in the first place. Maybe get another drop on their medic. Shouldn’t be too hard with his bulging muscles and intimidating physique, after all. Yeah, he had all of this in the bag.

It wasn’t until he was back and landing his first meatshot, overheal worn off, that Scout realized what he’d done.

—

Scout was nervous. He wasn’t scared or nothin’, nah, he ain’t a coward. He was just… worried. They won the round, and the team actually congratulated Scout on a job well done, but he couldn’t stop thinking of how he just went and _ kissed _ Medic. Sure, a kiss on the cheek was basically nothing, but… Soon as Scout started thinking girls were cute, his Ma told him never to put his mouth on anyone without their permission first. The Doc had a thing for personal space, and while Scout always ended up invading it somehow, it wasn’t the same this time.

(Scout tried offering Miss Pauling a few kisses once, y’know, real suave-like, and she asked him if he liked going through respawn _ that _ much.)

The worst thing, though, was that Scout was torn between having done it in the first place and not savoring it when he did. He could feel his face heating up at the thought of kissing Medic again, at the possibility of something more than just a smooch on the cheek. He knew he probably should, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. 

So, the next day, Scout was ready to get chewed out. He came up with a buncha lame excuses and was about ready to hurl them out all at once just in case Medic was peeved enough to cut off his tongue and stick it in the freezer as soon as he saw him. In essence, Scout was a rambling bomb with a Medic-activated danger fuse ready to explode at any time.

The thing is… Medic didn’t say a thing. 

Scout waited pretty anxiously during setup, but all Medic did was give everyone their overheal and wish the team good luck. The older man actually seemed to be in a pretty chipper mood, and as the battle went on, he was doing pretty well. He was wielding the vita-saw this time, and the manic _ schadenfreude _ laughter he usually let out after pulling out someone’s organs had a touch more life to it.

Scout was relieved, honestly. Maybe Medic forgot. Maybe he didn’t care in the first place. That meant Scout was able to whack his foes to death with a bat completely guilt-free.

But then something else happened.

It was a similar situation as yesterday, actually. Except this time, Scout overextended and all he got to show for it was a dead BLU pyro. He didn’t know where the rest of his team was, and the burns on his skin were vicious. He desperately needed healing, but he couldn’t risk giving up cover and revealing his position.

Cautiously, as loud as he dared, he called, _ “Medic!” _He wasn’t expecting a response, but he did it again, a little louder.

When he heard footsteps coming his way, Scout reloaded his scattergun, braced for the unwelcome sight of a BLU uniform, and readied himself to be sent off to respawn again. But then he listened closer and realized it wasn’t just one person.

He registered the sound of rockets landing and grenades detonating. Much closer. He heard the voices of his teammates, their vicious victorious battle cries. They must have tried for a push while Scout was gunning down the pyro and succeeded. They forced the front line forward.

_ “You killed them all!” _the Administrator’s voice boomed.

Scout could feel relief flood into him. And when the footsteps became clearer, the relief became sweet enough to numb the piercing sensation of his sizzling flesh. That’s what it was. Relief. _ Not _ the tell-tale sign of his nerve endings dying.

Heavy shouldered his way into the room, gun heaved up and ready, and, trailing just behind him, was Medic.

Medic’s eyes landed on the injured boy. “Ah, Scout! There you are,” Medic said, immediately switching the medibeam over. “I knew you would be here.”

That familiar voice was like music to the runner’s ears. “Holy crap… Thank _ god,” _he breathed.

Heavy sniffed. “Little Scout is hurt. Always on brink of death when Heavy sees.” 

“That… That’s ‘cause I’m always takin’ one for the team, man! I’m paving the way. Guess it’s my unofficial job, ‘cause ain’t none of you screwballs tryna—“

“You rely too much on Doktor and whine for healing like soiled baby.”

“Hey! I’m still strong enough to take _ you _ on, fatass,” Scout threw back.

Heavy simply shook his head. They’ve had this conversation many times before. “No. Is not good to bully tiny little men,” he said.

He said it was such nonchalance that Scout felt a little hurt, actually.

He was ready to retaliate, but then Heavy pulled out a lunchbox. It appeared comically childish in the massive man’s hands.

“Eat more,” Heavy said, placing the lunchbox in Scout’s hand. “This will help you grow strong. Better than nothing, _ da? _Doktor is busy man.”

Scout’s eyes widened. “Whoa, really?”

He didn’t know what to say. He usually had to steal the BLU heavy’s sandviches or risk sneaking one from Heavy in the chaos whenever he threw it at someone if he ever wanted a taste on the battlefield. 

Heavy gave him a curt nod and Scout let out a whoop.

Then, Scout noticed he was in perfect shape again. He looked down at his arms and no longer found burning globs of third-degree mush where his elbows should be. He turned to Medic, grinning.

“By the way, how’d you know where I was, Doc?”

“You called, did you not?”

Scout’s eyes widened. “You heard that? I was practically whispering.”

“Crystal clear,” Medic nodded.

Medic had this weird ability where he always seemed to know whenever people called him. It would be majorly creepy if it wasn’t so helpful (like seriously, did he stick voice-activated trackers in their kidneys or something?), but sometimes Scout wondered if it drove the guy mad.

“Well, thanks, Doc. I mean it,” Scout said. 

The overheal was settling in now, but he wasn’t gonna think distracting thoughts. No siree. He was a professional hired killer here, and he was ready to do his job. That’s what he swore he’d concentrate on—_ not _ Medic’s tantalizing presence.

But then Medic did something to completely shove that determination right up Scout’s ass.

The older man leaned in after Scout thanked him and pressed a gentle kiss onto Scout’s forehead. It wasn’t anything like Scout’s sloppy one from yesterday. No, it was better. Unique in its care. 

“_Gern geschehen,” _Medic said, voice soft.

Then, he righted himself and switched the medibeam over back to Heavy again.

Scout’s head was swimming. 

The explosions started up again, meaning some of the BLUs must’ve respawned. Medic and Heavy said something else when they walked out the door and back into the battle, probably something about flanking the sniper and engineer for them, and Scout responded, but… It was a bit of a blur.

He was too stupid happy.

What did “gern gesh-hay-hen” mean?

—

So… It continued. It _ grew_.

Scout thought _ hey, maybe it’s like a little itch I gotta scratch or somethin’, _but it wasn’t. If this was a real itch, he’d have hives all over and his skin would be so red it would blend in with his shirt like he was a freakin’ stop sign or something. No impulsive urge of his had lasted for nearly this long, and he’s had a lot of them before. In this case, what was once days turned into weeks, and what was once weeks turned into a good few _ months_.

His little stunts—originally smaller, annoying pranks—became a bit bolder. His touches lingered longer, teasing the line between casual and caress. Scout didn’t have the willpower to deny the ache he felt around Medic, so his resolve to remain as subtle as he could be, y’know, being _ himself, _was crumbling fast. 

Scout eventually couldn’t resist giving Medic those kisses and they became more or less a semi-regular thing. It wasn’t like it was a ritual, but rather like a new liberty Scout felt like he could take, a casual little thing, as brief as a friendly slap on the back. If he wasn’t the one going for it, it was Medic himself, and there was no way in hell Scout would refuse an opportunity to be close to the guy.

It was almost like Medic was another Miss Pauling, but he felt different. Scout couldn’t just whip out the charm and win Medic over like he usually did with all the fine ladies, because Medic wasn’t a fine lady and it would just… be really freakin’ weird. Scout didn’t wanna flirt with the dude or get into his pants or nothin’, he swears it. Honest. He really didn’t. Cross his heart and all that crap. 

He just… wanted to… to be with him? Kinda? He wanted Medic’s attention, Medic’s touch. Wanted to feel Medic’s eyes on him, Medic’s arms around him, Medic’s smile in his direction. Scout wanted every inch of Medic in the most confusing way.

It didn’t help that the older man was genuinely fun to be around. He was funny (even if his jokes were a bit morbid) and knew when to pay attention when Scout was rambling to parse out the more important parts. Sometimes, Medic even seemed to move in kind, responding to Scout’s little antics. Scout could do something that would probably annoy the balls offa anyone else on the team and Medic would just laugh, pat him on the shoulder or the back or whatever, and tell him he’s busy. He’d tack on some funny German word in there too, calling Scout a _ “shatz” _ or _ “leeb-ling” _ or _ “shoe-sir” _ or something. 

At this point, Scout was a very frequent, and pesky, visitor in Medic’s infirmary. Hanging out with the Doc quickly became a regular thing. 

Everyone on the team eventually got used to it. 

—

It was delivery day. Or, rather, the day their monthly shipment of supplies came in, and Scout managed to score something good.

Well, it wasn’t that great, and he didn’t even know what it was, but it was all he had time to grab and stick in his pocket without being too obvious. Everything else around him was stuffed in huge ugly boxes. He managed to sneak behind everyone during the drop-off this morning and make his way to the back of the massive truck where they kept the _ other _ deliveries for _ other _ places (“_locations classified, stop asking, Scout _ ” his _ ass_, by the way, because Scout knew they were just taking them to another team like theirs). 

All Scout wanted to do was see what was back there since they always had at least one guy giving him the stink-eye whenever he tried to catch a peek, but then the altercation with Soldier that gave Scout the opportunity to look in the first place fostered an explosion somehow. Amidst the panicked screaming of the delivery staff about their precious stock and the angry exclamations of his teammates about how, _ sacré bleu, what in the Sam Hill have you done, that’s our bloody food, mate! _Scout realized he had a bit more time to browse.

In any case, no one would care about what he took. It was a small bottle sitting with a massive pack of like thirty-six other ones, so missing just one of them obviously wouldn’t matter. 

(Yeah, yeah, so what if all the bottles were different colors and had different long-ass science-y words on them, probably meaning that they weren’t all the same and actually individually significant, after all? It wasn’t _ his _ job to keep track of the details.)

The bottle Scout had was fist-sized, amber-colored, and had an innocuous liquid sloshing around inside of it. The label on it looked crisp, but trying to read the words made Scout’s eyes glaze over, so he visited Engie to ask him about it instead.

The Texan set down his wrench for a second, took the bottle in hand, squinted at it from behind his goggles, then paused, shaking his head.

“Now where’d you pick this up, son?” he asked.

“I, uh, found it,” Scout said.

Engie took one look at Scout’s face and shook his head again.

“I’m sure you did.”

Suspicion was written all over his face. Engie didn’t buy it. Scout rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. 

“Alright, stop lookin’ at me like that. I did find it! In—it was sittin’ in the back of that delivery truck earlier today.”

“Boy, you know that’s off limits to all of us—“

“Yeah, yeah, but they didn’t see nothin’ so it’s cool! Soldier wrecked enough of their stuff; they won’t notice this. Can—Can you just tell me what it is? Don’t ya got like, a million PhD’s or something?”

“Medicine ain’t one of them, son.”

Scout’s eyes widened. “Yo, whoa, it’s medicine?”

“Mmhm. Not the healing kind, either, I reckon.” Engie turned the bottle around in his hands. Something seemed to amuse him, because a chuckle started bubbling up in his chest. “Whew, this one’s a doozy. Ya better hope none of this gets on you, boy.” 

“What’s it do?”

“I ain’t no expert, but let’s just say it gets ya burnin’ up inside. Real bad.”

Holy crap. That sounded pretty awesome. If he dumps it on his bashin’ bat, maybe he could do even worse than make people bleed.

“What, like Pyro’s makin’ rainbows in your gut or something?“ Scout asked, genuinely curious.

“More like your heart, maybe,” Engineer chuckled. He gave Scout something of a sidelong glance, a little twinkle sparkling in his eye. “Why don’t ya head on over an’ ask the Doc about this, son? You’ve been spending time with him a lot lately, anyhow. He oughta know more than I do.”

Engineer tossed the bottle back over to Scout, who deftly caught it in his hands.

“Hey, that’s a great idea, hardhat!” the runner grinned. Awesome! He had an excuse to visit the infirmary. Scout was planning on dropping by regardless, but now Medic couldn’t shoo him away as fast. “Thanks, dude.”

“Anytime, pardner. Be careful with that now, y’hear?”

“Yeah, yeah, heheh, sure!” 

Scout was already heading out of the workshop doors, replying over his shoulder. He didn’t quite pick up on the sly amusement in Engineer’s voice. 

Being careful was the last thing on his mind.

— 

Scout didn’t bother taking a ticket before he went in. He knocked once or twice on the infirmary doors, but he didn’t wait for a response before he swung them open and walked right on in.

Medic was standing next to the patient’s chair. He looked like he was organizing his tools, and—if the mysteriously throbbing, unidentifiable mass sitting on ice on the table beside him was of any indication—prepping for another experiment, too. He was humming. Upon noticing Scout’s arrival, he set the small surgical knife in his hands off to the side.

“Hey, Doc!” Scout greeted.

“Ah, _ willkommen, _Scout. What’s the matter? Another paper cut?”

“Nah,” the runner said. He jumped on the patient’s chair, causing it to creak and shake, before reclining on it. Grinning up at Medic, who now stood looking down upon him, he sat leisurely with his hands behind his head. “I got something for ya.”

“Oh, really?” Medic smiled. “A pleasant surprise. Not another severed limb, I assume?”

It wasn’t uncommon. Scout often came by bearing little trinkets or the occasional odd gift he found that made him think of the old guy. 

One time, he brought back an entire arm—Spy’s, specifically—because he thought it was hilarious. For some reason, the arm didn’t disappear with the rest of Spy after he got blown up bad by a rocket one day, and he woke up in respawn with a quarter of his limbs missing. Medic had to grow a new one for him somehow, and Scout found the old one lying in a corner on the battlefield when the day ended. He ran back into Medic’s infirmary, swinging it around like he would one of his signature bats. It made the Doc laugh, which in turn made Scout ecstatic, since Medic’s genuine, not-insane laughter was always a bit addicting to hear. 

The next day, he made sure Medic and Spy saw him whack a few BLU’s upside the head with it before he left it to the Doc for examination. He and Engie had to go over it just in case there was a glitch in the respawn system.

“You’re not gonna kick me out before I show ya or nothin’?” Scout joked.

“Only if it isn’t a waste of my time,” Medic teased. He gestured to the… _ thing _ on ice. “As you can see, I have something else to attend to.”

Scout was honestly trying not to look at it. “Uh… Yeah, alright.”

Reaching into his pocket, the runner quickly sat up and turned so that his legs dangled off the side of the patient’s chair. He pulled out the little bottle and held it up for Medic to take. 

Once Medic had it in hand, he immediately began to examine it. His reaction, oddly enough, was almost like Engie’s. His expression slowly sobered as he took in the small description upon the label, before he turned to look back at Scout with an indecipherable gaze.

“Do you know what this is, Scout?”

“Sure I do. Well, I mean, I know it makes ya all hot n’ stuff, but uh… Yo, Doc, something wrong?”

Medic was taking off his gloves as Scout was speaking. He reached for Scout’s wrist, checking the boy’s pulse there before pressing his fingers against Scout’s pulse point upon his neck.

“Doc, I—What’re—I ain’t here for a checkup—“ Scout began to stutter. Medic usually warned people, at least, before he started feeling them up for their vitals. The sudden contact caught Scout off-guard. 

Medic was mumbling something to himself in German. 

“Seriously, Doc, you gotta—you gotta tell me what’s goin’ on,” Scout said.

“Listen to me very carefully,” Medic began. “Did you ingest any of this substance?”

“What? No way, why would I?”

Medic was searching for something in Scout’s expression, watching, with that piercing gaze, the way Scout looked at him. He leaned in, ever-so-slightly, and that little bit of closeness suddenly felt oddly monumental.

They were alone in the infirmary. The air was cold, but Scout felt warm.

“You said you brought this here for me?” Medic asked.

His proximity, so unexpected, made the blood rush to Scout’s head. Scout’s pulse picked up the pace, hard at work with his skipping heart.

“Y-Yeah. That—That’s what I said.”

“What did you expect me to do with it?”

“Uhh…” 

Scout didn’t mean to, but he kept getting distracted, glancing at Medic’s lips. It was kinda hard not to. The way Medic spoke always had Scout tempted to catch the way his accent manifested… Like, the doctor’s bottom lip would catch slightly on his teeth, turning his W’s into V’s. German was funny like that.

Could you taste an accent in a kiss?

“Scout.” 

“Oh! Yeah, um, anything you wanted, Doc. I wouldn’t stop ya.”

Medic paused, almost like what Scout said caught him off-guard. Scout couldn’t read the Doc’s expression because it wasn’t one he’d seen before.

“Does it look I’m dyin’ or something?” he asked.

Medic shook his head. “_Nein, _ but I do believe you must be lying. This bottle, _ mein Schatz, _name for me what it is,” he said, placing the object in question inside his pocket.

“Medicine.”

“What kind?”

“Uh… It’s um… This—This sorta… Liquid… Thing…”

Medic’s gaze sharpened, but not in that threatening _ I’m gonna kill you _way it always did on the battlefield. No, this was like… Actually, Scout wasn’t sure.

But something changed in Medic’s voice when he spoke next. It became a touch lower, a pinch… Sultrier? 

“It is _ ein Aphrodisiakum, _Scout. An aphrodisiac,” he said, “and you must have taken it.”

Holy. Crap. 

“N-Nah, I _ swear. _Scout’s honor, man!”

“You must have, because do you know what you look like right now?”

Scout shook his head.

“I will tell you.”

Medic shifted his hand so that it cupped the side of the younger man’s head, thumb grazing Scout’s cheek as his fingertips brushed through the hair on the back of Scout’s neck. It made Scout shiver involuntarily, and he felt himself start to blush in embarrassment because of it.

“Warm, flushed skin. Heightened pulse.” Medic lifted Scout’s chin up, looking into his eyes. “Dilated pupils.” 

“I-I’ve been workin’ out,” Scout lied.

Medic’s lips quirked. “Are you nervous, _ Schatz? _ I’ve seen you endure much worse than an examination.”

“I didn’t wanna examination,” the younger man mumbled, looking away. He’d be jiggling his legs right now, restless, if Medic wasn’t stationed securely in between them. He kinda wanted to run; it was getting harder and harder to keep his hands off the doctor. He was gonna do something real stupid real fast if he didn’t haul ass outta there right this second. “Just wanted to give ya something. I really didn’t drink nothin’, Doc. You’ve got the—the full bottle right there.”

“Gifting someone an aphrodisiac would often be regarded as an _ invitation,” _Medic said, “and if you’re sober, then that makes it all the more… sincere, _ ja?” _

Scout met Medic’s eyes again.

“Whaddya mean?”

“It means… I can do _ this… _And you would not mind.”

Medic closed the remaining distance between them. His words were spoken whispers ghosting over Scout’s lips. 

He sealed them with a kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch-change of plans... There’s gonna be three chapters now instead of two h-haha... (ノ*゜▽゜*)
> 
> I don’t have a beta or anyone to read all this so........... pardon me ahead of time pls

The Doc was right. God, was he right. 

Scout didn’t mind at _ all_.

In fact, he melted into the kiss almost as fast as he could run. It was like he was finally satisfying his most elusive craving, discovering new flavors he didn’t dare cease to taste. It made him lightheaded with equal parts disbelief and euphoria. 

Any sort of self-restraint Scout was miraculously exhibiting prior to the moment their lips met died a dog’s death. At first, Scout was frozen, more than a little shocked, but then Medic pressed that much closer and deepened the kiss as if to wake him, rousing the younger man into action.

It was history from there.

So many of the questions that plagued Scout’s mind were finally answered. Medic’s lips _ were _ soft. Would it be weird to say that some crazy mad scientist’s lips felt nicer than any other girl’s Scout’s kissed before, even with all their fruity lip gloss? Yeah? Well, he wasn’t in any position to care. Medic encompassed all of Scout’s hyperactive senses, being the closest he’s ever been, and the intimacy was intoxicating. 

Scout’s bandaged hands were everywhere, basically just taking this one beautiful, golden opportunity to do everything he fantasized about doing for months. It was delayed gratification culminating into one bigass mind wipe, because every breath and sigh spurned him onwards, further and further, thoughtless in the pursuit of sensation. Eventually, his hands found themselves upon Medic’s shoulders, before quickly trailing higher, wrapping his arms around Medic’s neck.

Medic brushed his tongue gently over Scout’s lower lip, and Scout instinctively understood the imperative, parting his lips allow him access into his mouth. Soon enough, their tongues tasted each other and, holy _ crap_, maybe the French weren’t all that bad if they came up with something like this.

Scout could feel the Doc’s hand tease the bottom hem of his t-shirt for a brief second before he felt fingers at his waist. Slowly, Medic eased the shirt up higher, his hand tenderly exploring the skin underneath. Scout shivered, arching up into the Doc’s warm touch. His hands were soft, surprisingly devoid of calluses, and Scout suddenly wanted to feel him all over, feel those strong surgeon’s hands running over every expanse of skin he could provide.

When Medic broke the kiss Scout let out what he would look back on in a few hours as an embarrassing whimper in protest. The older man gently shushed him. 

“Patience, _ bitte_,” he whispered. His voice sounded just as breathless as Scout felt.

Then Medic adjusted them, leaning Scout slightly backward as he lowered his head and pressed a trail of kisses along Scout’s neck. Scout braced himself by wrapping his legs around Medic’s waist. His hands were laced through Medic’s hair and as he brushed his fingers through the short strands in the back, behind his ears, Medic let out a low groan that shot satisfaction through Scout’s chest.

But the satisfaction was short-lived. Someone knocked on the infirmary doors.

“Doc, are y’there?” Engie’s voice rang through, nearly giving Scout a heart attack. “Need a lil’ more info on those parts ya wanted.”

Another voice joined in. It seemed resigned, a touch irritated, and annoyingly posh. Scout knew exactly who it was. “_Docteur, _I need the antidote we discussed. I’ll not wait a day longer,” it said.

“Holy shit—“ Scout startled. Not just one, but _ two _ people we’re going to see them like this. And one of them was _ Spy _ for crying out loud. “Doc, we gotta—“ the runner tried to implore, but his words dissolved into a small yelp. Medic lightly bit into a sensitive spot on Scout’s skin where his shoulder met his neck, a gentle nip atop Scout’s racing pulse.

“Ignore them,” Medic murmured. “We are not here.” 

Scout wanted nothing more than to do just that, but Engineer continued, oblivious: “Spy cut himself on his own knife. His _ poisoned _knife. Hah! Now, ain’t that something?”

“It is an easy mistake to make when you’re surrounded by _ imbeciles _ who don’t know how to look where they’re going—“ Spy sighed. “_Merde__. _ Just… Speak up if you are there, _ docteur, _please.”

Medic finally pulled away from Scout after the latter kept worriedly tugging on his hair. The younger man’s heart was now hammering for entirely different reasons than before. He was really, _ really _ frickin’ grateful Engineer and Spy had manners and the foresight not to barge into any potentially gruesome experiments that may or may not be occurring, because if they were anything like Scout, those doors would’ve been wide open yesterday ago. 

When he and Medic locked eyes, Scout could see the aftermath of all his handiwork, and, even with the panic of being interrupted settling in, the runner couldn’t deny the spike of affection that tugged at him upon seeing how rough Medic looked. His lips were pink and kiss-swollen, his face flushed, and his normally pristine hair needed another comb. His tie was all askew, pulled out when the runner got handsy, making his collar look all sorts of unprofessional. Scout wanted to take a picture, keep it with him.

But Engie and Spy were knocking again.

Medic scowled and twisted his neck in their direction, no longer capable of ignoring it. “Ach, I am _ busy!” _ he called. His hand was still up Scout’s shirt. “Come back later!”

“I refuse, _Docteur. _I quite clearly remember you claiming the poison provides an instantaneous, non-symptomatic death after ten minutes. It’s taken me…” Spy trailed off briefly, most likely checking his lame cloak watch, “three minutes to arrive at this door, and it’s been one minute since we’ve begun knocking. As you recall… Respawn is not active off the battl—“

“He’s gonna die, Doc!” Engineer yelled. Then, much quieter and muffled behind the infirmary doors: “Ya didn’t need the whole spiel, Spy.”

_ “If you interrupt me again, I will have your head, laborer.” _

“Sure you will, pardner.”

Medic growled in frustration before he fully extracted himself from Scout’s embrace. “Fine, fine! Just give me a second to prepare!” Fixing his tie, he turned to Scout, his expression softening. “We’ll resume our discussion later, _ ja? _”

Scout blinked. His legs were hanging off the side of the seat again, and without Medic’s body heat he felt a little bereft. “Y-Yeah. Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure,” he managed to say. His head was still swimming, overwrought with everything that had just occurred. “I, y’know, I—I should probably go.”

“And I must prepare the antidote,” Medic sighed. He glanced at the weird mass of whatever-that-was still pulsating on ice before looking back at the infirmary doors. It was making a slight hissing sound, now. Picking it up, he stuck it into his refrigerator before turning back to Scout. 

Medic bent down and pressed one last kiss onto the batter’s cheek.

“Run along, _ mein Liebling. _I still have work to attend to, after all.”

“See ya, Doc,” Scout whispered.

Medic started rifling through his cabinets and Scout made for the doors. He found Engie and Spy standing just a few feet away as soon as he opened them. 

Aw, hell. He was hoping they were at least looking away or something, but he had their attention from the get-go.

“Scout?” Spy said. Upon taking in the young man’s appearance, his eyes widened.

“H-Hey guys. What’s up? Need to see the Doc? Well, don’t let me stop ya—“ Scout said, immediately making for a quick dash past his two teammates.

But Engineer caught his wrist, stopping him before he could get too far.

“What’s wrong, boy?” the Texan asked, concerned. “Ya look like you’ve just run a marathon in there. You’re a right mess.”

“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about, hardhat. Lemme go, I gotta—“

“Scout,” Spy interrupted, “what is that on your neck?”

The runner paused. “What?”

“Is that a… bruise?”

“What’re you…?” 

Scout felt around the area with one hand, confused. He couldn’t see anything, but then he found it: a sensitive little spot that felt funny when he pressed down on it. It was right where Medic... 

“Oh,” he breathed.

Aw crap. Double crap.

But also, holy _ shit_. Holy fucking shit.

“It’s a—it’s a, uh, mosquito bite,” Scout lied. “Don’t ya got poison to cure or somethin’? C’mon, lemme go—” He hid the bruise under his free hand and started trying to shake Engineer loose again. Damn it, he had such a strong grip.

“I’ve seen enough injuries to know that isn’t the work of an insect, you idiot.” Spy’s expression took on a shade of suspicion. “It looks fresh. Why didn’t Medic heal it for you?”

Engineer looked at Scout. _ Really _ looked at him. Saw the mark he tried to cover peeking through his fingers. 

And then he understood.

A sly smile crept onto his face. A little bit smug and more than a little knowing. He let go of Scout’s wrist.

“I think I know why,” he said. Scout gave him a _ what is it now? _look, so Engie continued. “Did the Doc know anything ‘bout that medicine, son?”

Bingo.

Scout’s face was red as a beet. 

“He—He didn—I…” Scout floundered. Then he paused. 

The _ bastard_. Engineer knew exactly what that bottle was the entire time, didn’t he?

Scout jerked up, determined. “You know what? I don’t havta answer that. I’m leaving! You jerks can eat my dust!” he yelled. What were they doing, asking so many questions? Why’d they even care? Wasn’t Spy dying?

Scout made a mad dash down the hallway, intent on leaving the two behind.

As he turned the corner, he could hear Engineer’s low chuckle and Spy’s fancy French grumbling fade off into the distance.

—

For the rest of the afternoon and further into the evening, Scout couldn’t get the kiss off his mind. It was _ awesome._ It was amazing. 

It wasn’t enough.

After running away, he retreated back into his room, paced around restlessly in circles, and briefly contemplated grabbing a bat and hitting some baseballs into Soldier’s decapitated head collection. Ultimately, he opted to inspect the hickey in the mirror instead.

Freshly made, it was small, roundish, red, and a very solid reminder that what had just happened was not, in fact, some insane hallucination. Medic made a move. Medic made a move on _ him. _

Medic left a mark.

It left Scout feeling lightheaded. It was almost as if it was some sorta message, a connection between him and Medic that made Scout special somehow. Set him off from the rest of the team. The hickey would be hard to explain, but Scout almost wanted to parade around with it, going like, ‘_Guess who’s got two thumbs and just had the BEST makeout session? With TONGUE? That’s right: this guy!’ _but he wouldn’t, because… while his very first instinct was to brag about his game, it just didn’t feel right to actually do.

Scout still couldn’t name that weird little niche Medic seemed to occupy in his heart. He didn’t want to think about it, really. He just wanted to feel it for what it was. _ Obviously_, it wasn’t a crush. Scout didn’t have a crush on Medic, not at all! What was he, some kid? This didn’t feel like a crush. If it ever once did (which it never!), it didn’t anymore. It was special, though, he knew that much. 

His Ma always told him to trust his heart, go with his gut—all that good, solid sappy stuff—and right now? Those two important organs were nagging him about one thing.

He just wanted to see the Doc again.

—

After trying in vain for a couple hours to figure out when Medic meant “later” to be, Scout lost patience and decided, _ hey, fuck it, _ and just headed on over. Technically, after all, any time could be “later”. It just had to be… well, _ later._

In this case, the clock over the infirmary doors read sometime around five-thirty. He would’ve swung the doors open and just waltzed on in like he always did, but for some reason, he was nervous. So, for the first time in ages, Scout actually waited after he knocked.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“Looking for someone?” a voice behind him manifested.

“What the—!” Scout yelled, startled. He whipped around to the source of the intrusion, hands flying up protectively on reflex.

It was Spy, perfectly healthy and not poisoned. He sat leisurely upon one of the waiting room chairs, wafting smoke into the air via the cigarette perched elegantly between his fingers. His posture betrayed little beyond confidence and pristine style. 

_ Jackass._ Smoking wasn’t allowed in the waiting room.

“Ugh, _ Spy! _Why do you always gotta sneak up on people like that, man?” the runner sighed, relaxing his fight-stance.

“I was already sitting here. It isn’t my fault if you can’t see what’s directly in front of you.”

“No way, you were cloaked!”

“I was not,” Spy said simply.

Aw, hell. Was Scout _ that _ distracted? “I refuse to believe that,” he stated, stubborn.

Spy rolled his eyes. “You must have been dreadfully in need of medical attention to have such awful tunnel vision. An emergency, I presume?” 

Spy fixed his gaze on Scout. He always had that weird calculated look, like he knew exactly what you were thinking at any given time. Scout didn’t like it. Made him feel like he was talking to his Ma after she found out he skipped class back in high school to pick fights without the rest of his brothers again.

Well, Scout was a grown-ass man, and his Ma wasn’t here, and he didn’t even do nothin’ wrong this time. He had nothing to be concerned about.

“Sorta,” Scout shrugged. “Why does it matter?”

“Decided to get that bruise on your neck treated?”

Scout paused. “No…”

“I see. Since you look perfectly fine otherwise, I suppose you’re looking for a different sort of _ medical attention, _then.”

What...? Wait, was he—

Scout bristled.

“What’re you tryna say?”

“Nothing,” Spy said. He took a graceful drag of his cigarette. The plume of smoke that followed danced lazily around him.

They’d hardly said anything, but Scout felt oddly defensive. Maybe it was just Spy. Spy’s very presence oozed ‘condescending judgement’ whenever they were near each other. For some reason, it made Scout wanna prove the backstabber wrong. About what, who knows, but he wanted to see wonder in that guy’s face one day. Hell, maybe even pride. Scout just wanted to rub something in, wanted his worth etched in gold in Spy’s memory just so he’d stop giving Scout those dumb looks.

Yeah, Spy was just annoying like that. 

Determined to ignore the Frenchman, Scout turned back around, squared his shoulders, and prepared to knock again. Maybe Medic hasn’t heard him the first time.

Spy spoke up. “Don’t bother knocking. He isn’t there,” he said.

God damn it. Scout groaned, turning back to face the other man once again.

“Then where is he?”

“It’s almost time for dinner. He’s in the kitchen as it’s his turn to cook tonight. Have you been so wrapped up in your own hormonal pubescent thoughts that you’ve forgotten?”

“What? _ Your _thoughts are pubes,” Scout said. “And no way, it was Demo’s turn yesterday, so, uh... Wait… It was Demo’s… Aw, jeez! Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place? This sucks!”

Scout wanted to talk to Medic alone, but there were always a couple others in the kitchen if someone was making dinner. They’d either be helping out or, like Scout himself often did, trying to sneak a few bites before anything was served. 

Spy cocked a brow. “I would’ve expected you to have learned our meal schedules by now.”

“I got ‘em down pat, old man. Lost track of time, that’s all.”

There was no way Scout would be able to get through dinner without talking to the doctor. He knew that much. He just had to take his chances and hope there wasn’t anyone else hanging around when he found the guy.

New plan: forget the infirmary.

Scout started briskly down the hallway, past the waiting room chairs where Spy sat. He needed to get to the kitchen ASAP. Right before he got ready to break into a run down the adjacent corridor, however, he almost ran right into Spy decloaking before him.

Seems like Spy finally saw fit to actually stand up to talk to him. Was the cloak necessary, though? Jeez, he’s so dramatic. 

“Whaddya want _ now, _Spy?”

“Before you go,” the Frenchman intoned, suddenly serious, “I must know: what are your intentions toward Medic?”

“Wha… Why do freakin’ care?”

Scout’s brows furrowed, confused and a little annoyed, too. The hell was Spy getting at? He had places to be.

“Do you know who he _ is,_ Scout? I have read his files; I have seen the things he has done, the things he can and will not hesitate to do—“

“I’ve seen things too, man! Ya—Ya think I run into work every day with a blindfold on or somethin’? Medic ain’t—“

“With the way you tactlessly run into every fight, you might as well be blind. Scout, he could have sold his soul to the _ devil, _for all you know—“

“So what? It’s his soul, he can do what he wants with it—“

“It’s hypothetical, you imbecile!”

“Stop interruptin’ me!”

“_You _ stop interrupting _ me!” _

Scout huffed, hands balled into stiff fists. Spy looked pissed, and his cigarette dropped bits of ash onto the floor whenever he gestured with his hand. He didn’t seem to notice that little flakes of them were decorating his fancy designer shoes.

“What’re you, my _ dad _ or somethin’?” Scout scoffed.

Spy pursed his lips. Then he took a deep breath.

“I am not a stranger to your whims, Scout, and I couldn't care less what happens to you. I’m only here to warn you out of_—_eugh,_ merde_—the _ goodness of my heart, _ that if you’re merely chasing some frivolous _ crush_—“

Scout startled, jaw dropping.

“It ain’t a crush!”

“Oh? Really?” Spy asked, mocking. “Then what of the idiotic, dreamy glances across the room, the absurd willingness to throw your life away for him on the battlefield, the gifts, the frequent and lengthy unsolicited visitations?”

“Those don’t mean I got a crush, dumbass. I… I just get along with the guy. Are you watchin’ me or something? You know what that is? That’s creepy! That’s frickin’ creepy!”

“I know everything about _ all _ of our teammates. Don’t think you’re special,” Spy said, sneering in disdain.

Scout wanted to sock it to him right in the face. He was gonna do it. Someone better hold him back.

Spy continued: “I enabled your endeavors with Miss Pauling, however reluctantly, knowing full well that should her judgement lapse and by some miracle she accepts you as a suitor, she would be a good influence. The _ Docteur, _ however…”

“Miss Pauling’s different! You don’t gotta bring her up,” Scout blushed. “And Medic’s fun, not like you’d know what that is. I’m tellin’ ya, Spy, I don’t need your help. I ain’t got a crush!”

“What would you call it then, hm? Infatuation? Admiration? Puppy love?”

“I’m not some kid, you freakin’ dick!”

“That just makes it sadder, _ non?” _Spy said, shrugging. 

“It’s… It’s just not—You’re just—You’re_ wrong!“ _

Spy’s voice went falsetto. _ “‘My name is Scout, I’m too stupid to comprehend my own emotions! Rainbows make me cry!’” _he mocked.

“Shut up! Seriously, what’s your problem?!”

“My _ problem,_ you overgrown child, is that I go out of my way to advise you, yet you’re still vehemently denying the truth!”

“I ain’t denying crap because I. Don’t. Got. A. Freakin’. Crush.”

Scout punctuated each word with a sharp jab at Spy’s chest with his index finger. Technically, Spy wasn’t blocking the runner’s way in the slightest, but at this point he was too wrapped up in the argument to realize that he could just bolt around him and drop the entire conversation.

Spy looked down at Scout’s defiant glare and something crossed his mind. His expression shifted, softening imperceptibly into something less irritating and a bit more solemn.

He thought to ask a different question instead.

“Why are you so certain?”

Pulling back, Scout bit his lip. He wasn’t expecting Spy to actually ask his opinion. He scratched the back of his neck, fidgeting.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” he said. “I know what crushes are, I ain’t stupid. If I had a crush it’d be like… I’unno, the—the girls I was into when I was a kid. I’d suck up to ‘em for like, a month or somethin’, real polite and crap, and they’d ignore me for some reason, and I wouldn’t know anything about ‘em before I’d—I’d just… move on.

“With Medic, I could stick around him for ages and never wanna leave. I’unno, it’s like…” Scout trailed off.

“Love?”

“Yeah! Like I’m—“ Scout’s eyes widened—“in… in love…”

The team’s resident chatterbox quieted, for once speechless. Spy’s lips were pressed into a thin line witnessing the boy, but he withheld no malice.

“I see,” he said simply. Then he turned, shrugging. “Well, if that’s the case, then I’ve wasted my time. Forget every warning.”

“Wha…?”

“It no longer applies, and I have better things to concern myself with than your pathetic lovelife. Ah, poor Medic. I pity the man. But, moreso, I pity _ you_,” Spy said, casting one glance back as he waltzed down the corridor.

Scout hadn’t even been able to quantify the extent of his affections. It was as if he’d never been in love before. Spy realized, then, his presence was necessary. If he hadn’t pushed, how long would Scout’s nonsense continue? He originally intended for the boy to drop all of his frail, impulsive pretenses. He wanted to spare the team the drama of a crude crush, spare Scout the doctor’s wrath, and spare himself the headache. But Scout’s affections were far from frail.

Spy adjusted fit of his right glove. He needed a drink. Making his way to his smoking room, he left the runner standing in the middle of the hallway, confused. 

—

A couple minutes passed and… 

And…

_ What just happened? _

Scout realized he stood stunned, frozen, and slapped himself in the face to snap out of it. The sting was enough to bring him back to reality and he took a huge gulp of air before shaking out his limbs. He needed motion—needed sound, stimulation. The realizations were bubbling up inside him with nowhere else to go.

He was in love. With Medic.

Scout found his voice. “HOLY CRAP,” he exclaimed.

He took another deep breath and let out a shout. It finally made sense now! Everything made sense now! What the fuck!

Wait. 

Was he gay now? Is he gay? This sounds pretty gay. Fellas, is it gay to be in love with your handsome German teammate?

Scout thought back to the pictures of the pretty pinup girls he had taped up on the walls of his room. He pictured their smooth legs, lovely curves, and sweet smiles. Their half-lidded, _ come-hither _ gazes, and their soft hair. Nah… Still hot.

But then he thought of all the baseball player photographs he had taped up as well—men he used to look up to—and the posters of all those muscle-bound comic book heroes. They were pretty hot too, just in a different way, but he never really acted on that knowledge before, had he?

Then he thought of Medic. 

Scout’s heart did a weak little pitter-patter thing. Longing sprout forth like a fresh little spring bud, colorful and fragrant.

Scout lightly punched his gut to crush the distracting thing for a second. 

Man, what was he doing? He couldn’t really compare this. It wouldn’t match, wouldn’t make sense.

Scout started running, determined to make it to the kitchen. He had no idea what time it was, or if Medic was still even cooking.

He needed to ask Medic on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE 11/03: I’m soooo sorry. I’ve got the next chapter almost finished, and I’m still working on it, but life’s kinda holding me down (exams, moving, electricity issues, etc.) so it’ll still be a little longer until it’s out :(


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been along time since the last chapter and I'd honestly like to apologize!! But whew my life's been hectic, quite honestly, and it still is lol. In fact, I'm getting ready to move apartments for like the third time. Coupled w/the bouts of writer's block my stress gives me, the impromptu hiatus kept extending 😔
> 
> I'd like to thank all those wonderful people who commented on the last chapter!!! You guys got me motivated to finish up this one!! They made me so happy ♡ ♡ ♡
> 
> Also, remember how last time I said this'd only have 3 chapters?? Yeah well... I'm a filthy liar, it seems. Something... went wrong... There will be one more. I'm sorry LMAO (ノ*゜▽゜*)...
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys like this one!! Enjoy

When Scout finally managed to confess to Miss Pauling a few months ago, she rejected him. Flat-out. She was nice enough to talk him through why, of course, but Scout hadn’t understood at the time. Like, c’mon, he was a total catch! The complete package! God’s gift to women, honestly, not to brag, so why say no to this?

She provided reasons, things like “professionalism” or “time constraints” or “I’m a lesbian”, but the real cincher that he should probably think harder about, she claimed, was something else. Something he didn’t get.

She could sense it, maybe, that he wasn’t as dedicated to asking her out as he was when they first met. He pestered her less and less during her sparse visits to the base as time went on. They actually started getting along better for it. He was still jovial, still brashly amiable, but the awkward pick-up lines, poor attempts to impress, and lame ice-breakers stopped coming. 

And when he said he liked her, and she said no, he was disappointed, yeah, but not at a loss. He wasn’t as heartbroken as he should’ve been. 

That was the first hint.

Instead of sulking around for the next few days after the rejection, as everyone would’ve expected, Scout learned how to play German card games. It took a couple hours, mainly because Scout kept goofing off, but Medic taught him how to play _ Sechsundsechzig_, or Sixty-Six, and the runner even won a few rounds.

The ache of being denied softened with the zeal of Medic’s laughter, and eventually Scout figured that it wouldn’t hurt to have God’s gift to women remain hidden for just a bit longer. Miss Pauling would still have the delight of working with him, after all, so while she was definitely gonna miss out, she didn’t have to worry too much.

Thinking back on it now, maybe he was already tripping down the rabbit hole. Maybe by then, it was too late. Medic didn’t have to cut Scout’s thoracic cavity open, because Scout was already on his way to willingly hand the old nerd his freakin’ heart anyway. Was falling in love always as slow and incomprehensible as this? Worse than anything he’d fight on the front lines, his feelings found his blind side and he was none the wiser.

Now, this was relevant because Scout realized, belatedly, just as he was skidding to a stop moments before crashing into the kitchen counter, that he had no idea what to actually do. Miss Pauling was his last attempt at tryna _ properly _ charm someone.

Hell, he was gonna ask the Doc on a date, but he didn’t even know what happens after that. Go on a second one? Reach second base? Third base? What about a home run? Wait, when you get that far with another guy, do you really just stick it up his—

“Scout?”

A voice broke through his reverie. Scout realized he was staring at some leftover chopped onions for what must’ve been a good thirty seconds now.

He glanced up to find Medic looking at him from beside the stove, brows drawn in confusion with a small bowl and ladle in hand. He was even wearing one of those cliché chef hats, and an apron (littered with way too many bloodstains to consider normal) lie atop his lab coat.

“Um, heyyyy, Doc. What, uh…” Scout blanked out. Shit. Quick, be smooth. “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

He tried to seductively lean on the counter, but the elbow he chose to lean his weight onto landed on the chopped onions and he slipped right into the linoleum, making him crash with an undignified yelp.

Nailed it.

Medic blinked once, then the confusion on his face disappeared. He threw his head back and let out a laugh.

_ Nailed it. _

“Beef stew,” Medic said, amused. “Want a taste?”

Scout wiped the onions off his elbow and stepped closer, peering into a large pot on the stove as Medic scooped a helping into the small bowl he had. 

Everything Medic cooked always looked a little funny. To clarify: his dishes weren’t very pretty and looked a little lumpy, honestly—like the dry rations the team should technically be eating, but aren’t, yet wetter somehow—but they always smelled good and tasted even better. The only real issue with Medic’s cooking most of the time was that sometimes he’d sneak a few experiments in along with his list of ingredients, effectively turning the team into guinea pigs all over again. Strange formulas whose presence would be undetectable behind the sauce and seasoning would make their existence known only _ after _consumption, when Medic was already maniacally jotting down notes and people were turning purple and suffocating or something.

Scout hadn’t heard about any new ideas Medic had in mind to test lately, though, so the case with the beef stew was probably safe this time. Hopefully. It bubbled ominously and was a weird shade of reddish brown Scout wasn’t familiar with, but when the aroma hit his nose, it made him realize he was really frickin’ hungry all the same.

“You bet I do! Why’re you even askin’?” Scout grinned. In response, Medic handed him the bowl and Scout quickly dipped to grab a spoon.

“Don’t let the others know I’m letting you have extra before the serving,” Medic whispered mischievously. “They will think I’m playing favorites. Or spiking the food. Or both.”

“I _ am _ your favorite, though, ain’t I, Doc?” Scout said, winking. The wink was a good one, he felt, but it probably would’ve been more effective if his words weren’t muffled by a mouthful of stew.

Still, Medic’s lips quirked. “Don’t get too full of yourself.”

The bowl was really small, meant for a more of a snack than a meal, and before the runner realized it he’d emptied out the entire thing. 

But… He still wanted more. 

It was a cool privilege that Medic even allowed him a taste in the first place (since Scout usually had to pull some quick scheme if it had been anyone else’s turn to cook), so that was great and all, but now, though, he’d have to fight the guys at the table for the rest. Dinner at the base was just like dinner at Ma’s in that regard, just replace the mercs with his gluttonous brothers and you’d be good to go. 

Wait. Crap. He got too carried away about the food to do what he came here for.

Intending to really talk to the guy now that he had the chance, Scout opened his mouth. “Doc,” he began, but Medic made him pause.

_ “Einen Moment, bitte,” _ he said.

The doctor leaned forward slightly and took Scout’s chin in hand, tilting the younger man’s face up. With that ease of access, he bent forward and kissed the corner of Scout’s bottom lip.

Scout’s bewilderment must’ve been showing on his face.

“You had some stew on you, _ Liebling_,” Medic said simply, licking his lips. “Your mouth is already distracting enough. You were saying?”

Oh, man_ . _

Fuck. 

The Doc could stop him any time if it meant he’d do that again. But, for longer… And not on the _ corner _ of his lips, per se…

No. They still needed to talk. Scout squared his shoulders.

“I wanna—“

Sniper pushed this way through the kitchen door. 

“Oi, mate, ya done yet?” he said. “They’re gettin’ antsy out there. Soldier’s considering minor cannibalism.”

Scout groaned. Why do things keep getting in his way like this?

Sniper came from the door that led straight to the dining hall, opposite to the one Scout went through, and he stood propping it open well enough that the batter could hear the rowdy chatter of the other mercs beyond them. There was the not-so-faint sound of Soldier yelling, followed by some intense scuffling, something breaking, and Heavy… roaring in pain? Anger? Both?

Medic reacted to that last one with alarm. He and that big fat Russian were BFFs or something—a relationship special enough to make Scout very _ not-jealous _ sometimes—so there was no way the Doc would just brush this off. Damn it. 

“Perhaps after dinner, Scout,” Medic said quickly, before reaching over to switch the stove off and turning toward Sniper. “The food is ready,” he told the lean gunman. “Tell them I will be out right this second!”

Sniper nodded an “Alright, mate,” before leaving.

Then, as if remembering something, Medic turned back to Scout. “Ah_ , _ grab that bread, will you, _ bitte?” _ He pointed somewhere over to Scout’s left, before heaving the massive soup pot off its perch.

Scout turned to a tray of rolls, only just now noticing their presence. They had butter on them and they smelled nice. Looked warm. Ever since the whole ‘teleporting bread’ incident last year, they’ve had to get their bread the normal way like normal people _ without _teleporters, which was pretty boring. 

Anyway, Scout took the tray in hand. 

He sighed. This _ sucked. _

Now he had to sit through dinner without having asked Medic a single thing.

* * *

Turns out Soldier took a massive bite out of Heavy’s left arm. Pulled the flesh off and a bit of meat and everything. He was standing triumphantly atop the dining table with that piece of the arm dangling from between his teeth—like some sorta savage hyena or whatever—and Heavy looked just about ready to punch his lights out, when Medic and Scout walked in.

Seeing the sight, Medic was pissed. “Why are you so _ impatient?” _he asked. 

He plopped the pot of stew down, snatched one of the larger rolls off of Scout’s tray, and grabbed Soldier by the collar so the hungry American had to bend at the waist to meet him. Yanking Heavy’s stolen flesh away, Medic shoved the bread roll down Soldier’s mouth in its place and smacked Soldier on the temple._ “Dummkopf! _” he said.

Soldier didn’t care; unhurt, he focused instead on the buttery goodness suffusing his taste buds. The frenzy left his eyes and he looked mollified. “Thanks, Doc,” he said, voice muffled. He swallowed the entire roll in two big gulps then stood up, pointing an accusing finger in Heavy’s direction. “You taste _ terrible_, maggot!”

Heavy glowered, his expression reminding Scout of that face a bear makes right after you poke it. “Heavy is not food for _ anyone _,” he said, unfazed, almost like the huge rip in the skin of his arm didn’t hurt at all. 

Seriously, it was bleeding out all over the place; how did he not feel anything?

“Not with meat like _ that_, you aren’t!” Soldier retaliated.

Pyro, who sat in the seat just behind where Soldier stood on the table, grumbled beneath his cutesy rubber ducky dinner bib. Somehow, they managed to convey the whole _ ‘I’m done’ _ sentiment even through a gas mask. Reaching up and grabbing a hold of Soldier’s leg, Pyro pulled—hard—causing Soldier to come tumbling gracelessly down. He landed with a startled yell, a heavy thud _ , _and a pained groan, taking at least a third of the tablecloth with him on the way down and effectively dislodging most of the dinnerware. More than a couple spoons clattered to the floor. 

Silverware wasn’t the only thing that got pulled along with the cloth, however. Demo, who was nursing a bottle of scrumpy on one end of the table, unfortunately chose a poor time to let go of it. It jostled forward along with everything else, toppled over, and spilled. The liquor soaked an amber puddle straight into the white tablecloth.

_ “NOooo!” _ the Scotsman cried, anguished. He jolted forward in his seat to rescue the fallen bottle only to find it empty. What a _ waste. _Cradling it in his arms, he mourned the loss of his beloved.

Meanwhile, Medic took the opportunity to pull out a thread and needle from the closest first aid kit. As Sniper comforted the anguished Demo with some awkward shoulder pats, Medic started sewing Heavy’s skin back on. Some stitches and a bit of one of Medic’s healing salves would be a good temporary fix until they could head to the infirmary and do some proper reattaching after dinner. 

Engineer, who was just calmly sitting in his seat the entire time, ambled his way over to the beef stew. Why not grab a helping while the rest of the boys were occupied, right? No harm done. At least _ he’d _ get what he came here for.

As he poured a serving into his bowl, however, Soldier crawled forward like a fallen brother-in-arms, intent on having some stew himself. He wrapped his arms around Engie’s legs to get his attention and Engineer, startled, lost his balance trying to escape and fell forward with the now-filled bowl still in hand. The momentum of his fall created an almost magnificent arc of beef stew in the air, splashing the RED team in a sprinkle of delicious-smelling reddish brown rain.

Seeing it, Scout dropped the tray of rolls. He couldn’t contain it. The first fall was bad enough, now this? Frickin’ hilarious! 

As Engineer and Soldier wrestled on the floor—the entire team doused in at least a few pieces of beef stew around a ruined dining table—Demo sat bereft and grieving, Medic dabbed swabs over Heavy’s stitches, and Scout was hunched over howling in laughter.

It was right at this moment that Spy walked in, fashionably late. He took one look at the chaos, frowned, and turned back around.

Yeah.

Scout definitely wasn’t gonna get that date today.

* * *

That night, inspired by equal parts past experience and torturous desire, Scout’s mind manifested illusions he didn’t have the strength to dispel. His distracted thoughts translated themselves into vague dreams, both dangerous and delightful.

Within them, the scent of love and sweat permeated the air. Medic moved against him, atop him, bare flesh sliding against his, skin slick and heat-heavy. He breathed deep, formless whispers into the runner’s ears—perfect, passionate, prurient—yet held him with a tender touch, curious hands. He painted trails of loving kisses down Scout’s skin, moving past his lips, his shoulders, atop his chest—descending lower, lower, across his abdomen, upon his hips… 

The next morning, Scout awoke with his nerves alight, skin tingling, craving the illusory memory of a mad man’s touch.

Only thirty minutes of set-up time left on the clock. 

He overslept.

* * *

_ Aw, crap. Crap. Shit. Fuck. God damnit. _

Scout barely managed to get into position in time before the countdown launched and the fighting began. No one cared or looked at him funny, of course, as he’s been late before, but being late always came with its own consequences. Among them, Scout really didn’t wanna have to deal with Heavy’s disapproving shake of the head or Soldier’s militaristic admonishments. The former made Scout feel a little bad, but the latter was just a pain, honestly.

It didn’t help that Scout had a… hard time recovering from the effects of his slumber. It still lingered in the back of his mind, and it freakin’ sucked. He didn’t have those kinda dreams everyday or anything, especially not about _ Medic_, but lately they’ve _ only _ been about Medic, and every time he’d get them it’d get worse. More involved. More realistic. More… physical. 

They felt so possible. 

It taught him an awful kind of greed.

* * *

So, Scout was a man of action. He set goals. He got things done. He was _ basically _ the epitome of efficiency and progress. People _ wish _ they were as successful as he was. Really, Scout could do _ anything_. 

Except ask Medic out on a date, it seems.

Yeah… 

Every time Scout would charge in with the solid intent to charm the pants off the crazy doc, he’d get interrupted, sidetracked, or distracted in some sort of way. It was frustrating, and the more the opportunity kept dancing itself away, the more intent he was on tackling it down.

The first try was back in the kitchen, and, judging by the distinct lack of progress he made, it went well. Obviously.

The second came the next morning, after he was late, further into the day when the battle was well underway. He managed to run into resupply just as Medic was respawning. Scout needed a health kit and some more ammo, so he figured he’d dip back and grab them real quick outta the locker before returning, no problemo, but just as he was about to leave, he saw Medic blink into existence. It was only him for once. He and Scout were alone. 

Scout stopped right underneath the automatic shutter, his back to the outside, prepared to grab Medic’s attention.

He only got a couple words in before he exploded into bits. 

Hidden just beyond the corner was the enemy demoman, it turned out, waiting for someone to waltz right underneath the sticky bombs he’d generously placed around the door… And Scout just happened to be that someone.

The third try was about two lives later. The sun beat down on them hard, and Scout found Medic retreating from the choke for a second to get topped off at one of Engie’s dispensers. Scout ran over and tried to lay on the charm while he still could.

“Come here often?” he asked, smiling leisurely as he leaned atop the dispenser. Medic looked like he was about to offer a wry retort, but then his head quickly whipped back to the choke, eyes widening, noticing something that the batter had yet to.

A buncha things happened all at once. Scout could hear Heavy’s strong voice call out _ “Incoming!” _ before the enemy soldier slipped through the defense and leapt within site of Engie’s nest. He didn’t last long, what with the sentry immediately cracking down on him and all, but he died with a bang, firing three quick rockets in rapid succession right in Medic’s direction.

Medic, often used to getting viciously focused down, managed to surf the rocket away, but Scout, who was still tryna look hot leaning on the dispenser, wasn’t so fortunate. His fighting style employed movement in the deadliest of ways, relying mainly on the fact that his enemies _ couldn’t _ focus him down in the first place, so getting caught idle? Yeah, nah.

He exploded right along with Engie’s dispenser.

The fourth try spiced things up a bit, though. Meaning Scout _ didn’t _die a gruesome explosion-related death. 

But it still wasn’t pretty.

The runner was buttering the Doc up, y’know, tryna ease into getting that date, real smooth, but then, out of nowhere, the BLU pyro came hurtling down at the two from above. The pyro flew through the frickin’ _ sky. _Fires blazed gloriously in every direction as they descended (they were whipping that flamethrower around like crazy), setting both Scout and Medic alight.

Before the arsonist even landed, though, they whipped out this gnarly-looking axe covered in barbed wire and, swinging it down like gravity’s guillotine, lodged it right through Medic’s head.

Scout screamed a _ “WHAT THE FUCK—“ _upon witnessing Medic fall face-first in the dirt and quickly scrambled for his scattergun. The shock wore off fast, giving way to some real pissed-off hype, so, even as the flames licked Scout’s skin sore, he still managed to avenge his Doc. He brought down the pyro with two rapid-fire shots. 

After that, Scout figured maybe he shouldn’t ask during work… Too many hazards and too few opportunities.

It wasn’t very romantic, anyway.

* * *

The fifth try was another failure, but Scout couldn’t really blame it on the universe tryna mess with him this time. Although he was far from giving up, it was him who chose not to ask in the end.

The attempt occurred during the evening, after work. Dinner actually went as it was supposed to, so clean-up was minimal and didn’t take much time. Scout, fortunately, wasn’t on dish duty. He ate fast and dashed off to his room to preen in front of the mirror a bit, making sure he looked good before he set off.

Well, good, but not _ too _good. Not all try-hardy with that expensive guy perfume stuff or that deodorant junk or whatever, but effortless and manly.

Yeah, that’s right. Scout was gonna _ keep _ that hardcore battle musk he’d earned during the fight that day. Nothing like the good, salty sweat of a dedicated day at work to win someone’s heart, right? Medic had to appreciate that sorta thing, right? The doctor couldn’t have the same dainty preferences as a lady, Scout knew that much. Spy’s crash-course coaching wasn’t applicable here.

Right…? 

…

Miss Pauling’s disgusted face after Scout tried to give her a hug at the end of the day flashed through his mind, before quickly switching over to Medic, post-battle, as he avoided bodily contact with the other equally sweaty and smelly mercs with undisguised honesty. 

…

Fine.

Alright. Okay. Whatever. He’d take the precaution anyway. Hell, maybe the Doc liked people that smelled like disgustingly expensive spring daisies or something.

Digging through one of his drawers, Scout pulled out the bottle of cologne he’d filched from Spy’s smoking room during a base-wide crisis (aka, the only chance he’d ever really get to steal from Spy and maybe-succeed). Then, he sprayed it all over him. He sniffed his pits, smelled the cologne instead, and stretched with a resolute huff. It smelled alright, he guessed_ . _It wasn’t like it was anything to write home about or nothin’. 

Anyway, now he had covered all the bases. There’s no way Medic would be able to resist him. God, if Scout wasn’t himself he’d date the hell outta him. It was a crime to look this good. He was a sexy _ beast_.

The runner combed his hair a little, swept it back with his fingers. Tugged at his collar. Should he roll down his t-shirt sleeves? Nah… 

By the time Scout finished inflating his ego even more than usual, enough time had passed for Medic to finish his meal and settle himself in the infirmary. Scout winked at his reflection in the mirror, shot some motivational finger guns, and then headed on his way. 

He was _ not _gonna miss out this time. 

Strolling confidently down the hallway, Scout pushed through the infirmary doors with a flourish. Like always, they gave way with ease. He stepped into Medic’s domain and then… He smacked straight into a hoard of feathers.

_ What the— _

Suddenly, the batter was blinded. There was cooing, frantic flapping, and something like a bag? Repeatedly slapping his face? Panicking, Scout immediately flung his hands up to swat away whatever the hell it was that was assaulting him. 

Amidst his confused screaming and blind staggering, Scout heard Medic’s voice in the background.

“No! _Nein!_ _Aus, aus!”_

More scuffling. There was a ripping sound and then: thud! Something crashed right onto the floor. Scout could feel solid rain, almost like corn, scattering over his head and across his feet. As soon as it happened, the frightening flurry of slapping wings ceased and the runner could actually see in front of him.

For about a second. 

Long enough to witness a hoard of doves descending from the rafters like Heaven’s final reckoning, flying faster than his eyes could keep up, racing like starving dogs to a fresh, gourmet steak. It was _ terrifying. _ Scout screamed and his fight-or-flight (hah) kicked in, instantly shocking his legs into running the fuck outta there, but as soon as he set his foot down, he slipped over whatever it was that spilled and came crashing down.

He ended up flat on his back in front of the infirmary doors, buried beneath Medic’s beloved collection of pet doves as they pecked at his body.

He craned his neck. Over to the right, just beyond arm’s reach, sat what must’ve been the source of the rip: a sack of innocent bird feed now being viciously gutted by the very winged beasts it was born to nourish.

“_Shoo! Shoo! _Ach, you naughty birds! Release him!”

Medic entered Scout’s field of vision, waving his arms to clear the dovepile off of the younger man’s form. His expression was not unlike that of a strict, scolding teacher. 

“_Mein Gott,” _ he said, clicking his tongue, “I taught you all better than this.” Reaching down, he gently shooed the last of the doves away and reached a hand out for Scout to take. “I’m sorry, Scout, the formula proved more effective than intended.”

Scout was dizzy. Literally feather-brained, he took Medic’s hand and pulled himself up. “Wh… Formula?” he repeated.

Medic nodded. He brushed the extra seeds off of Scout’s head and explained: “It was meant to be harmless experiment. Perhaps even a bit of a treat. I extracted a small sample from the bottle you offered me yesterday and, using a few ingredients of my own—ingenious, if I do say so myself—creation, tweaked its effects to hopefully induce an effect similar to that of catnip as opposed to sexual arousal. In other words, I sought a means to subvert its most potent symptom.” 

“What for, Doc?” Scout sighed. As they spoke, the two walked over to a counter, where Medic gestured to a mixture that Scout assumed was probably what he was talking about. It looked messy, like a struggle occurred nearby, and an unknown liquid was dripping off the edge of the counter. The birds must’ve gotten to him first. Those hardcore beaked bastards.

“Well, why not?” Medic asked. Then, he shrugged. “But as I was preparing the first test, my hand slipped and I dumped the entire mix into their food! A drop in a bowl would have sufficed. Ah, human error. We cannot all be gods… _ Yet_,” Medic added, quieter.

“Whaddya mean _ ‘ye_—“

“Anyway! They descended like hawks,” the doctor laughed. “Well, results are results, _ ja? _”

Scout rubbed his sore butt, the precious thing that initially cushioned his fall after The Great Pigeon Attack, before giving Medic a doubtful look. 

“Yeah… Sure.”

Glancing back, Scout looked for the doves, checking out the aftermath of Medic’s blunder. In fairness, the younger man acquiesced, this wasn’t nearly as bad as the Doc’s _ real _experiments could get. It was probably just a scientific flight (hah) of fancy. 

Almost all the seeds, nuts, and dried fruits that fell out of the bag earlier were all gone, and in their place waddled the pampered pigeons instead. They shuffled around, bellies full, and… looking a bit high, actually. They appeared satisfied and their floppy movements were pretty funny—enough to make Scout wanna laugh—but then he realized.

He must’ve looked a little funny right now, too. 

Goddamnit. 

All of Scout’s prepping earlier went right down the drain. Cologne schmalogne. He bet he smelled like freakin’ birds or something now. He probably didn’t look as hot as when he walked in, either. Every ounce of him felt like half-eaten pigeon chow.

Which _ sucked_. 

Scout sulked. He was just starting to make a disturbing amount of eye contact with one of the doves—the one that was always covered in blood for some reason?—and silently cursing it and its equally demonic kin when he felt something reach behind him.

Medic’s warm hand tickled the back of his neck. 

Scout turned, a bit startled, and caught the older man’s gaze. Medic’s fingers only descended further, dipping underneath the collar of Scout’s shirt and brushing the chain of his dog tags. At some point, Medic had removed his gloves, and they now rested, seemingly forgotten, on the trashed counter, allowing Scout to experience every nuance of the man’s touch. Scout’s skin sung in its wake, sending a slight shiver down his spine.

Then, Medic’s hand slowly retreated. He looked amused. Caught between his forefinger and thumb was a single white feather.

After a beat of silence, Scout realized. 

“Oh… Oh! Was, uh, was that caught up there? Thanks, Doc.” He reached behind himself, both to shake some sense into himself and scratch the shiver from his neck. Finding nothing, Scout started patting his chest, his sides. “Crap, do I got any more on me?”

Instead of saying ‘yes’ or ‘no’ as Scout would’ve expected, Medic’s response was to draw nearer. The Doc’s hands eased their way onto Scout’s hips before slowly tugging him forward until their bodies were a scant few inches apart. 

The youth’s breath caught as Medic roamed the expanse of his waist, fingertips carefully brushing over the leather of Scout’s belt before once again pausing to tease the band just as he had the collar of Scout’s shirt. He lowered his head over Scout’s shoulder. His breath was warm, a gentle tickle against the runner’s ears as he spoke. 

“Just one,” Medic said, and Scout felt something give, felt a feather untuck against his hip. Heat rose to flush his skin, heady, electrifying. The world slowly started shifting focus, gravity and time itself distorting in favor of the man before him, and Scout was flooded by a profound sense of unreality.

What the fuck. 

What the _ fuck. _ Why was that so _ hot_—all the guy did was pluck a feather and breathe two words, holy _ crap— _why did everything this guy does have to be so—

Medic’s voice broke through his whirlwind thoughts. It carried a bewildering, almost seductive lilt. “What did you come for? What do you want, Scout?” 

Scout blinked. 

Huh?

His distracted mind scrambled for an effective answer, but like a broken record, his responses kept drifting in the same direction. They were blunt, like he naturally was, like he was taught seduction despised. He half expected a bucket of chicken to materialize in his arms, but this wasn’t a chicken bucket situation. Medic wasn’t a chicken bucket kinda guy. Scout didn’t want him to be.

“I, uh, I want…” He wanted a date. Wanted Medic to kiss him again, wanted Medic’s heart. Wanted—“You,” Scout blurted.

Then his words caught up with him and if he wasn’t red before then he sure as hell was now. “To—To talk to you, I mean,” he quickly corrected, squirming in Medic’s grip. “Y’know, a chat. You and me, mano-and-mano. ‘Cause I gotta few questions to ask, and—“

“Is this about yesterday?” 

The Doc’s gaze darkened and adrenaline rushed through Scout at the memory of the last time he was met with that same intense expression.

“Yeah. Yeah,” he repeated. “About yesterday.”

A wicked smile stretched across Medic’s face. “I’ve been waiting to continue that conversation, _ mein Schatz_,” he said, and he dipped his head to nuzzle against the runner’s neck. His lips parted slightly, teeth barely grazing the skin.

Scout registered the sensations and belatedly realized he wanted another hickey. He wanted another mark. The desire hit him like a freight train, and he had to physically keep himself from tilting his neck further and granting Medic more access.

How was he supposed to get Medic to fall in love with him if he kept getting distracted like this?

With that in mind, Scout managed to pull back, pushing the Doc gently, albeit gracelessly, away from him. The confusion on Medic’s face made Scout falter, but he still had enough mettle in him to keep his head in the game. 

It was when that confusion turned disheartened, though, that all of Scout’s resolve poured itself down the drain. The tempting fire that lit Medic’s gaze dimmed, and Scout felt like crap for it. He switched gears fast—comically fast, Road Runner fast—and apologized. He didn’t want the Doc to think he wasn’t interested; that’d be a step in the very direction opposite of where he wanted to go.

“Sorry, Doc, I just, uh—“ he scrambled for an excuse—“I don’t smell like bird crap do I?”

Medic smiled fondly, confusion addressed, before tugging the younger man closer once more. “Only faintly. It will fade,” he assured him.

Damn. Scout was right. That cologne did jack shit. 

He hurried to press his point. His window of opportunity was closing. “But, also, I was wondering—uh—“

Medic pressed a kiss to Scout’s cheek, nibbled lightly on the shell of his ear. “Mm, yes?”

“Um, I—wondering—_fuck_—“

Medic pressed their lips together, scrambling Scout’s already fried brain with a kiss. It made Scout gasp, and Medic took the opportunity to slip his tongue in to dance briefly against the runner’s own, deepening the kiss with a tilt of his head, a teasing smile, felt rather than seen. They parted with a slight, satisfying smack and Scout found himself leaning forward, chasing the Doc’s lips once more.

“You were wondering?” Medic asked, a murmur, hand sliding up to warm the nape of Scout’s neck, to smooth down the goosebumps he found there. It was a slight, gentle pressure that would have been perfect to pull Scout back in.

Crap, what was he gonna ask?

Fuck it.

“Nevermind.”

* * *

They made out for an absurd amount of time before Medic led them both out to his room, impatient and panting, previously perfectly comfortable clothes now made unbearably clingy. Fortunately for them, Medic’s room was virtually attached to his clinic, and they didn’t have to stumble very far.

When Medic discovered Scout never had a guy stick it up his ass before, his eyes took on an ominously eager glint, as if he were about to crack into a fresh, untouched batch of high-quality, jumbo-sized exotic animal organs instead of Scout’s pert little behind. The only obvious difference was that, as opposed to the mania of mad science, Medic looked… Hungry. Ready to break Scout in, ready to savor the whole process.

It was unnerving how willing Scout was to let Medic do whatever he wanted to him, how excited it made him feel. He knew his protests were for show, to puff up his manly pride, and he knew the Doc knew it too. He indulged him, praised him.

And despite Scout’s initial concerns, Medic handled him with care. He didn’t toss him around like he sorta expected the guy to, but rather treated him with coaxing ease. Playfulness, delight. 

If Scout didn’t know better, he might even say he felt… loved.

Afterwards, laying under the covers and wrapped in Medic’s arms, Scout was suddenly arrested by an odd sort of clarity. He was getting what he wanted, or at least part of what he wanted. The physical part, the making out part, the getting laid part. But he knew this wouldn’t be enough for him, would it? Casual flings were always a thing with people, but Scout wanted to be more to Medic than just this. He craved the body _ and _ the mind.

Scout woke up the next morning tangled in Medic’s bedsheets, wishing he’d gotten that date harder than he'd wished for anything else in a long, long time.


End file.
